


Nightmare

by ArthurAlbion, EverettGrendel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22745416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurAlbion/pseuds/ArthurAlbion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverettGrendel/pseuds/EverettGrendel
Summary: After the failed Armageddon, Crowley has begun replacing his own bed with Aziraphale's couch in the bookshop. Since that fateful day, he's been plagued with nightmares.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Nightmare

Winter 2018

In the dead hours of the night, Soho was surprisingly, abnormally quiet. A thin layer of winter snow muffled any traffic creeping through the streets, and the sidewalks were bare of all signs of life. The gentle snowfall knocked silently on the windows of an old bookshop sitting on a corner. The only sounds in the bookshop were the gentle ticks of a grandfather clock and the soft rustle of pages turning slowly.

Aziraphale sat in the cushioned chair at his desk in the dimly lit back room with spectacles perched on his nose and a worn tome cradled lovingly in his hands. Perpendicular to his chair, the demon Crowley lay sprawled across the low couch sleeping soundly. The angel stirred, lowering his book and taking off his glasses as he glanced over at the clock for the time. If the clock was accurate, it was almost three in the morning. Slipping a bookmark between the pages, Aziraphale laid the book on his desk and stood up to make some tea.

The days that had passed after the failed Armeggedon had been peaceful, for the most part. It was only after their respective trials that Crowley and Aziraphale began to breathe sighs of relief. Even if peace wouldn’t last, and they suspected it wouldn't, at least they would be left alone until their respective sides decided their next steps. The months in the meantime, however, had been nothing but pleasant. The angel and the demon had defaulted back into a comfortable routine like the days Before. Well, almost. Neither of them spoke of the dramatic increase in how much more time had been spent together, how much more frequently Crowley had been replacing his own bed for the couch in Aziraphale’s bookshop. There wasn’t a need to acknowledge their newfound closeness, not after all they had been through.

Aziraphale cupped the warmed ceramic between his hands as he moved to the windows of the bookshop, watching the steady snowfall. It had been snowing most of the day and well into the night, it seemed. Crowley had used this as an excuse to stay indoors with the angel. His black Bentley illegally parked just outside was currently blanketed under a small mound of white. Aziraphale knew the snow wouldn’t damage the car. Had Crowley been determined to leave, the weather would have never hindered the demon. But the angel didn’t state this aloud and had simply fluffed up the pillows on the couch in response. He secretly enjoyed their time together.

Aziraphale’s thoughts were interrupted by a new sound. The angel turned, confused, and made his quiet return to the back room. Crowley had unconsciously tossed off the knitted blanket that had been covering his legs and was fidgeting so much in his sleep the angel was amazed he hadn’t fallen to the floor. Before Aziraphale could move to pick up the blanket, Crowley made a breathy, choking sort of sound and curled into himself.

Placing his mug onto the nearest flat surface, Aziraphale picked up the blanket and moved to drape it over the demon once more. He froze as he caught sight of Crowley’s expression. Aziraphale had never seen such a look on his face before. It was tense, and his brow was furrowed, as if in pain. Aziraphale touched his face gently, an ache spreading in his chest at the sight. It must be a nightmare. The angel didn’t sleep often and never remembered having any dreams, but he knew it was common for most people and they could be horribly unpleasant. Gently brushing the unshed tears from the corners of Crowley’s eyes, the angel prepared to miracle away the nightmare haunting the demon’s sleep. Aziraphale paused as he noticed the restless twitching had stopped. He stood there for a moment, watching as Crowley began to breathe easier and the tension slowly left him.

Moving slowly, Aziraphale lifted his hand away and retrieved his book, returning to the couch within moments. Crowley’s brow was furrowed again, but the demon was still fast asleep and motionless. Taking care not to disturb his slumber, Aziraphale gently lifted his head and sat down replacing the pillows, lowering Crowley’s head onto his lap. Before he could stop himself, he began to run his fingers through the demon’s red hair. It was as soft as down feathers. Crowley sighed and relaxed under his touch. Aziraphale smiled affectionately at him, then picked up his book with his free hand and continued to read.

* * *

Crowley woke slowly, becoming conscious of his surroundings one element at a time. Even from behind closed eyes, he could see the bookshop was lighter from the sunshine outside than when Crowley had fallen asleep. At least the angel had the decency to keep the blinds drawn over the windows. He was also aware that his pillow had taken a funny shape, but he was so comfortable and warm he didn’t mind. He contently drowsed somewhere between half awake and half asleep for a minute. Then a hand was on his head, caressing his hair with such gentle affection it made Crowley’s skin crawl.

Heat flooded his face as realization crashed down on him. It took all of his willpower to remain still, to keep breathing steadily despite his heart thundering rapidly in his chest. Each time those fingers brushed his scalp he felt a bolt rush down his spine. It was both soothing and exhilarating simultaneously. Crowley didn’t want it to stop, didn’t want to break the moment by waking up. Aziraphale had never touched him so affectionately before. 

Unbeknownst to the drowsy demon, Aziraphale had been watching him with a fond smile. The angel had finished his book hours ago, and there was not another novel within reach that could pique his interest quite like this moment with Crowley. He brushed his fingers through the dark red hair, lightly running slow patterns on his scalp and tucking strands of hair around his ear, waiting for the demon to finally open his eyes. Seeing as the demon was too stubborn to abandon his pretences, Aziraphale shifted slowly so he could lean over and gently kissed his cheek, right over the serpent tattoo.

“Good morning, my dear.”

If Crowley had been red before, the fires of Hell couldn’t compare to his face after this moment. This was not how he had expected to wake up. Even if Agnes Nutter herself had told him this would happen, he wouldn’t, couldn't, have believed her. Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking like a small child caught in the act of something he had been forbidden. Crowley looked up into the blue eyes of the angel above him. It was only now, at this moment, he also realised his funny shaped and comfortably warm pillow was, in fact, Aziraphale’s lap.

“Would you care for a spot of breakfast?” The gentle hand continued its repeated path through his hair.

If Crowley could have, he would have discorporated right there on the spot. This was too much, too early in the morning. Too close to his dreams leaking into real life. Too teasing for his heart to properly handle as it attempted to escape his chest. His mind, much like his heart, was failing to process what was happening. All he could do was stare dumbfounded up at those blue eyes that had captured him six thousand years ago. He couldn’t have said how long, but eventually he realised he had been asked a question. Not that he knew what it had been.

“Er, uh, yes. Ngh. What?”

Aziraphale’s smile grew wider. “Breakfast. I’m craving some cinnamon buns.”

“Breakfast, er, yeah.” Crowley tried to think through the action of sitting up, but his body failed him for a few moments still until he finally did manage it. His face was entirely red at this point, and suddenly he could no longer meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was perfectly composed, except for the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He watched Crowley’s face for just a second before he finally stood, adjusting his waistcoat and bowtie as he walked across the shop to retrieve his coat. It was also an excuse to give the demon a moment to gather himself. Aziraphale wondered if he was being just a little bit sadistic by teasing him so, but brushed off the thought. Seeing how tortured Crowley was from his own subconscious and doing nothing to soothe him would have been downright cruel. Aziraphale didn’t think he could handle watching the demon in such agony.

Reaching up to his hair, Crowley ran a hand through the red locks suddenly missing the feel and warmth of Aziraphale’s hand. He made a conscious effort to cool his face and calm himself as he clicked his fingers. A pair of his favourite sunglasses appeared in his hand, and the demon slipped them onto his face. Glancing down at himself, he was pleased to see the wrinkles from sleep were now also absent.

The angel slipped his coat on, adjusted it needlessly, then returned to the back room. Crowley stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as Aziraphale returned.

“There’s a cafe just across the street if you don’t want to drive. I’m afraid the snow will have made the roads a touch slippery.” He said with forced normality.

Crowley nodded, not really trusting himself to speak yet. He was also a bit too preoccupied to notice the slightly too casual tone.

Not many people liked to be out so early in the morning on a Saturday unless they absolutely had to, especially with the fresh snow on the ground. Crowley barely noticed the snow as he quietly followed. Aziraphale didn’t attempt to start a conversation on the way to the cafe, seeing the distant expression on Crowley’s face.

The angel and demon were quiet as they were seated. Crowley was far too wrapped up in confusing thoughts of his dream and feelings; the most prominent of which was trying to work out Aziraphale’s angle. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the angel, but this was all far beyond the boundaries the angel had set between them and stuck to for millennia. Knowing his dilemma was written all too plainly across his face, he attempted to push his churning mind away for later. Later meaning never.

Within moments of being seated, they were served tea and a soft, warm cinnamon bun was placed in front of Aziraphale. The angel ate slowly, savouring each bite.

Crowley glared down at his teacup as if it had personally offended him. It was easier than looking at Aziraphale. Finally, the atmosphere became too much even for him. He looked up. “Why, were you, y'know, why?”

Aziraphale couldn’t say he was surprised by the question, but he stalled, chewing slowly and sipping his tea to clear his throat as he thought of how to explain himself. “Well,” he said finally, “you seemed rather distressed in your sleep and I thought I might help if- if I...well, I _intended_ to miracle away the nightmare, you see.”

“Intended,” Crowley repeated the word. “But, you, uh, didn’t?”

“No.” Aziraphale gazed at his breakfast, mindlessly slicing it into tiny pieces with his fork and knife.

The demon waited for more explanation, but Aziraphale apparently felt no need to elaborate. “So, I was having a nightmare, and you were going to do something about it, and then it suddenly wasn’t necessary anymore?” He couldn’t stop the sceptical look on his face as he continued looking at Aziraphale.

“Well, no, it didn’t seem necessary to perform the miracle once I was… near.” This time Aziraphale was the one avoiding the demon’s eyes, spreading icing around on the plate before picking up his tea only to put it down again.

“Near?”

“You know, I ought to replace my chair. It’s no longer giving me the support I need and it hurts my back after a few hours. The couch is comfortable enough.”

Crowley slouched back into his chair looking incredulous. Aziraphale, of all people, was lying. Well, sort of. As much as Aziraphale could lie. Which admittedly wasn’t much. He wasn’t stupid, and the demon was able to piece together what must have happened. Not that he was going to let the angel off the hook without making him squirm. “Yeah? Makes sense. You’ve had that chair since you opened the shop, or near enough. Guess I’ll have to start going back to my flat at night.”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up at this. He knew what Crowley was doing, knew he was trying to get a reaction out of the angel to make him suffer for this morning’s teasing, and he knew he was falling headlong into this trap. He spoke a tad bit too hastily, even to his own ears. “Really, my dear, it’s alright. I don’t mind. I hardly use that couch. I don’t need it, you know I don’t sleep. There are other chairs in the shop I can switch.”

“Aziraphale. Don’t be so modest. You clearly prefer the couch. I was in your way last night. Wouldn’t want to be a bother.” The demon’s tone was too apologetically sweet, far too sweet to be real.

The angel gave Crowley a hard look before it broke and he placed his utensils on the plate, moving his hands from the table. “Oh alright, I intended to perform the miracle, but you seemed to come out of it when I was near. I couldn’t stand seeing you distressed and so I didn’t want to leave you.”

He hadn’t been expecting the angel to give in so quickly, but Aziraphale never held out to his teasing for long. In spite of himself, Crowley almost blushed for a second time that morning, but he was in better control of himself now. He opened his mouth but hesitated for a few seconds before plunging straight in. “That nightmare, it’s, I hate it. So, y’know, thanks, angel.” The gratitude was quiet and awkward in his mouth, but he meant it sincerely. The demon glanced up at Aziraphale as he spoke, before looking away in something like embarrassment. To give himself something to do with his hands, he clicked his fingers then picked up his tea turned to wine.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, stunned. He stopped abruptly, then continued. “There’s no need to thank me.”

Aziraphale wanted to ask about the nightmare. The curiosity had burned within him since the night he had first discovered Crowley suffered from the chronic nightmare. But he didn’t think either of them could handle continuing this conversation much longer. The angel finished off his pile of mush that used to be a cinnamon bun and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “That was scrumptious. Are you finished?”

Nodding, the demon downed the rest of his wine in one go. He would need a lot more alcohol in the course of the afternoon if the rest of the day continued with this new sense of teasing.

* * *

In spite of the demon’s threats, he had not decreased the time he spent in the bookshop. If anything, it had somehow still increased. He also had taken to sleeping there every night. The first night he had returned to the flat after the morning he woke up in Aziraphale’s lap, he had been so anxious it had been impossible for him to sleep at all. The only good thing that could be said there was the fact he could not suffer his old nightmare directly if he did not sleep. But Crowley liked sleeping, and he was too stubborn to let his trauma take something so important from him. Again.

Not again, he reminded himself. Aziraphale hadn’t died, had never been dead. Only discorporated.

It had been a few months since the Morning Incident, as Crowley had taken to thinking of it, when Aziraphale had come home later than usual. The angel had gone out to an auction or something for a book. Crowley had fallen asleep on the couch, lulled into a false sense of security. Too secure in the recent comforts of Aziraphale’s presence keeping the nightmare away. Even without a miracle.

 _The fire licked at his skin and clothes as the smoke stopped his breath. Books and pamphlets and bookcases fed the fire as the upper floor creaked with the threat of collapsing in on to him. Still, the demon hurried around trying to find the angel that was not here. His throat burned from the smoke and screaming for his best friend. A window was broken in from the outside. A blast of water took him off his feet and sent him sliding across the floor. His glasses flew away from him and melted into a twist of metal and plastic. Despair settled into his chest as he lived through being forced to concede to the universe that Aziraphale was gone. Again._

The blanket Aziraphale had knit decades ago slid off to the floor as he contorted on the couch in anguish. It was almost a miracle he hadn’t woken himself up with how much he was thrashing. The nightmare, insulted by their time apart, was back with a vengeance and was exacting it upon the sleeping demon.

Aziraphale walked into the shop, a look of triumph on his face. It had taken longer than he had intended, but he had eventually won out over that horrible little woman. Money didn’t matter to him, but she didn’t have to waste so much of his time. Then, after the auction had been settled, the old biddy had tried to protest and claim his triumph was a sham. It had all been quite annoying. The angel opened his mouth to announce himself to Crowley and begin the story of his day, but a strangled cry from the back room distracted him entirely. Bustling through the shop, he stopped in the doorway to see Crowley asleep and clearly in the middle of a nightmare. Setting the book down on the nearest shelf, he crossed to the demon’s side immediately.

Laying a soothing hand on Crowley’s face, he tried to shush the cries gently without waking him. It had always worked in the past when he began to see the nightmare creeping up, but this had been going on for some time already. Yellow eyes flew open as Crowley bolted up on the couch, very nearly smashing their heads together in the process of the motion. Had he been more like average mortals, he probably would have been screaming, but instead, he was panting with occasional nonsensical noises very similar to whimpering escaping him. He didn’t seem to see Aziraphale at first as he clung to himself, tears threatening his face.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say if he should say anything at all.

Crowley whipped around at the sound of his voice and the briefest of moments passed between them before he had thrown himself onto the angel. The tears were freely falling down his face now. Any other time he would have been embarrassed and ashamed of his behaviour, but in the throes of his trauma, there was no trace of hesitation. His hands twisted into Aziraphale’s jumper without his notice, desperate not to lose the angel again.

For a split second, Aziraphale was frozen in shock, but he quickly wrapped his arms around Crowley. “It’s alright, my dear, I’m here now. It’s alright.” He spoke quietly, soothingly, letting the demon have his cry. He couldn’t imagine what sort of nightmare would get this reaction out of Crowley.

When the tears slowed and Aziraphale sensed Crowley was calming, he asked without moving, “Are you alright? Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“No.” Crowley sat up too quickly in his panic. “No, I, uh, no. Don’t leave.” He sounded so sad, so desperate. Whatever this nightmare was, it had him twisted up inside with a fear neither Hell nor Heaven could inspire.

“Alright.” The angel reluctantly let him go when Crowley moved away. He noticed, however, the demon was still clutching at his sleeve. It seemed he was unwilling to break all physical contact, or perhaps unable.

They sat there like that in silence for another hour or so. The tears had long since dried and gone, but there was still something haunted in his expression. Aziraphale decided to try his luck and asked, “Can you tell me about the nightmare?”

Unguarded, yellow eyes which had been unblinkingly fixed in one spot for most of the previous hour seemed to come back to the angel. His gaze began flitting all over the shop and occasionally to Aziraphale, but they never lingered on the angel for more than half a second. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he would say Crowley looked guilty.

Eventually, the demon seemed to settle on his internal debate. “The nightmare, yeah. It’s, er,” he trailed off and seemed to take a moment to mentally gather himself.

“The nightmare, is, well,” something in him sounded like it cracked again. “'S not important, angel. Not really. I just… need to get over it. Bein’ stupid.” Crowley looked away and finally released the jumper’s sleeve and Aziraphale all together.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s hand twitched, moving as if to touch the demon but fell short. The angel didn’t hide the worry, the hurt for the demon in his voice. “My dear, it may help if you talked about it. If the nightmare is recurring, then it’s important. Ignoring the issue won't make it go away after all."

The concern was obvious in the angel’s voice, but Crowley flinched as if he had been shouted at instead. He might have looked guilty earlier, but he truly felt it now. He was being selfish. Taking up Aziraphale’s space and comfort without any explanation for his behaviour. And now he was making Aziraphale worry, too.

He exhaled a drawn-out breath then faced the angel properly. “The nightmare, is, … it’s, after you were, y'know, discorporated. I came here, during the fire. Looking for you. Only, you were gone. I thought, y'know, thought you were, gone. Not discorporated. Just, … gone.”

Crowley finished his short explanation. His eyes searched blue for a second or two longer before looking away. He didn’t want to see whatever reaction would follow. He wished he had his sunglasses, regardless of how Aziraphale could seem to see through them anyway.

A look of shock, then pain and remorse flashed across Aziraphale’s face. Even once he found Crowley again shortly after discorporating, he didn’t realize how deep the trauma Crowley had experienced ran until that moment. And he realized he shouldn’t be surprised. He could think of countless nights he had stayed awake, imagining the horrors of what would happen to Crowley if the Arrangement was discovered by Hell. The difference was, Crowley’s nightmare has been reality. A reality all due to Aziraphale’s carelessness.

“I’m so sorry.” It was all he could manage to say. This time, he didn’t stop himself when he reached towards Crowley, touching a hand to his face gently, wanting him to look him in the eyes and understand the angel’s regret.

The demon let himself be turned to look at his angel, let himself lean into the comforting touch. He could see the depth of emotion in that well of blue, and he did understand. He had never blamed Aziraphale for the discorporation anyway. Crowley had no way of knowing how Shadwell had sort of forced the angel into the active circle, and it wouldn’t change anything even if he did now know every detail that had transpired. His own yellow eyes looked too raw, too wounded, both from crying today and from how this had hung over him every day since Armageddon.

“I lost my best friend,” Crowley repeated the words he had drunkenly confessed to Aziraphale in the pub when they had been briefly reunited. He was sober this time, but they were just as pained as they had been then.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said softly, hand caressing the demon’s cheek. “I’m here now. I won’t leave again.”

His hand moved from Crowley’s cheek to cup his head and pulled him close, wrapping him gently in a hug. He focused his entire being into his feelings for Crowley, wanting the demon to feel safe and comforted. He made a promise to himself to never again leave Crowley alone so late at night.


End file.
